– To the first friend. I wonder what you’re doing now, I hope life is treating you well these days. Written for Day 1 of SingPoWriMo 2018, which took place in April. We were challenged to write one poem every day for a month. I completed 23 days.
Each day, a new prompt would be released to help us with the writing process. Here is the prompt this poem is based on:
THE H20 PROMPT by Stephanie Chan
Write a poem about a body of water.
#SEASTARBONUS: Read about its history/geology. How was it built/formed? How old is it? Does this information change how you think about it?
#FISHBONUS: write about the body of water as if it was a person.
#LETTERINABOTTLEBONUS: the poem is addressed to the body of water.
#PARTOFYOURWORLDBONUS: you have at least two conflicting feelings about this body of water.
#SHAPEOFBONUSBONUS: write it from the perspective of the body of water. Or a mythical or real thing that lives in it.
It would be
a fine proposition
if you ask that we
get dirty right now
bare feet on wet asphalt
bubbles of laughter
tree-broken wrists mending
in the curled lips
of our appalled mothers
I’ve been too obsessed on posting poetry and photography simultaneously, instead of posting poems that I’m proud of having written. So I’m going to stop being so uptight about my format from now on.
Enjoy the poem!
It’s no one’s fault
But sometimes I am feathering along the hips of a lover
Whose love will dissolve in spit by morning.
Sometimes I crave touch that must be paid for first
In the form of climaxes.
There are better ways to gain affection
There are healthier ways to be loved
Like alcoholism, because you never drink alone
Like drugs, because your doctor will always prescribe xanax
Like insomnia, because there is always someone in Texas who’s awake enough to hold a conversation with you.
Performed at Blu Jaz Cafè for the Luna/tic Poetry Slam (Open Mic), hosted by Word Forward. Performance found here.
Your fingertips leave my body
Like grains of sand cascading over a boulder
Gently we part, your lips still lingering over mine
We smile. No more love poems.
I’m falling and crashing into the asphalt pavement
The rain is cracking down on my exposed spine
Never have I felt this much pressure on my hands to
Get up, get up, let go of your ghost-
How often do we get to live like this?
Your hair falls around you as you toss a giggle over your shoulder
I catch your hand and we leap off a cliff into the sea,
Happily, everything falls and settles.
The wave hits me like an angry mother
She crams her salt-riddled palm down my throat
99 paper roses and a pocket full of heart
I feel the pull of the tide and my lungs are-
Softly, your fingertips are dancing over my chest
Platonic plates shift and fall back into place
You are so-
Why is it that I am crying over the last petal as it falls away from the 99th paper rose
Did you know that I stayed up late to make them for you?
When I told you I love you did you know how much it hurt to admit that?
My bones are breaking from letting go of you.
I want to be in love with you.
We float above the Dead Sea like otters
The salt stinging our wounds as our fingers seperate and mend
Alone, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever tried to be.
I wish you would stay the night, just this once
I hang on to the bits of you that you’ve left in my room,
Screaming my sorrow for the lost emotion in my body
The fluttering in my chest took off from my aching heart.
Loving you was the most unselfish thing I had ever done.
I wonder if letting go
Would be the kindest thing I’d ever do.
She shimmered under the moonlight, your fingertips brushed over her rivers and valleys, the dip and rise of her mountains, forests and hills. And you breathed hot air on her neck, straining yourself to fit your hands around all of her, trying to hold everything you wanted closer.
I like to think that she had died in your arms. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that she had disappeared together with my memory of you. I’d like to think of her self-destruction as the moment you took her into your arms.
She’s beautiful. She had always been beautiful. I wonder if she knew that.
I met a girl when I was 14, she had glass for eyes and a post-it smile. Every day I sat across from her in the canteen and watch her stomach turn over and over as her friends surrounded her with rejected love and support. Continue reading “Poem For The Broken”→